It's time to cook Reader!
There’s this one dish that shows up at almost every potluck, community dinner, or team banquet. You know the one I’m talking about. It’s been around forever, passed from person to person on a food-stained index card that might as well be a historical artifact. The ingredients haven’t changed in decades: margarine, canned soup, crushed crackers, and something... vaguely beige.
The thing is, no one really loves it. Most people kind of nudge it around their plate or politely take a spoonful out of obligation. But it keeps showing up, because “that’s the way we’ve always done it.” The thought of updating the recipe? That would be culinary treason.
But here’s the truth: it’s not that the dish is beyond repair. It’s that no one wants to be the one to admit it. Because once you admit something needs fixing, you open the door to change. And that means effort, conversation, and possibly upsetting the casserole cartel.
And it got me thinking...
Youth sports kind of feels like that casserole. It’s been around forever. Everyone swears by it. But if we’re being honest, we know parts of it are outdated, over-processed, and maybe even a little toxic. Yet every season, we keep dishing it out. Same format. Same issues. Same silent eye-rolls on the sidelines.
But here’s the thing. We don’t need to toss the whole thing in the trash. We just need to fix the recipe. Because we can save it.
It starts with getting honest. That’s uncomfortable, especially in a system built around pretending everything is fine while quietly losing players, coaches, and joy at every level. But if we’re brave enough to admit what’s broken, we can get to work on fixing it. That doesn’t mean finger-pointing or scapegoating. It means everybody grabbing a spoon and stirring the pot differently.
Coaches? We can start by rethinking how we define success. Winning is great. It’s fun, it’s motivating, and it definitely sells. But if our players are burning out, getting benched for mistakes, or quitting the sport entirely, is it really a win? Are we coaching for results or developing people? Are we flexible when kids show up with emotional baggage, or are we still demanding perfect effort on imperfect days?
Parents? We can take a breath. Let go of the need to narrate every game from the sidelines like it’s the Super Bowl. Let kids drive the experience without riding shotgun on every decision, every conflict, every playing time rotation. And yes, we can also rethink the post-game car ride. Maybe lead with, “Did you have fun?” instead of an unsolicited TED Talk about footwork.
Administrators? You can start valuing development as much as dollars. Build systems that reward retention and athlete well-being instead of ones that just track wins and college commitments. Invest in coach education. Listen to your families before they leave, not just after they’ve gone. Culture doesn’t happen by accident. It’s built one conversation, one choice, one core value at a time.
Governing bodies? You’ve got to stop pretending that patching up problems with another set of rules or a task force is enough. We need better, more consistent, and yes, more mandated coaching education. Not just for the top-tier clubs or the national teams, but at every level. Will everyone love that? Of course not. Some will grumble. Some will resist. But when we let anyone with a whistle and a weekend take charge of young athletes without understanding how kids learn, how to give feedback, or how to manage emotions, we’re asking for damage. This isn’t about weeding people out. It’s about raising the floor. Making sure that no matter where a kid plays, they’re coached by someone who actually knows how to teach, how to lead, and how to grow humans. Not just run drills.
Venues? You’re not off the hook. The environment you set matters. Train your staff to de-escalate, not power trip. Put signage up that actually helps, not just laminated threats about ejection policies. And maybe rethink the militant “no outside food” rule when the concession stand sells nothing but pretzels, nacho cheese, and regret. Parents are hauling kids across the state, staying for 12-hour days, and you’re confiscating granola bars like they’re contraband? We can do better. Make it feel like a place for growth, not a punishment for daring to be prepared.
Competition hosts? It’s time to take a hard look at the monster we’ve created. Squeezing in 200 teams to maximize profit may look good on paper, but not when kids are warming up at 5:30 AM and playing their final match at 10 PM. That’s not development. That’s a test of physical and emotional endurance for the athletes and everyone who came with them. And don’t even get me started on the five-hour windows with no food options, no quiet space, and one bathroom for 300 people. We can do better. We have to. Because when the logistics of an event overshadow the actual experience of competing, something’s gone seriously sideways.
And players? Yes, this includes you. You get to lead, too. That means treating your teammates with respect. Showing up for practice even when you’re not feeling it. And understanding that playing sports is a privilege, not an entitlement. You don’t need to be perfect, but you do need to be accountable. That includes your attitude, your effort, and how you treat others when no one’s watching.
But here’s the thing. None of this, none of it, works without communication. Not just announcements. Not just updates or emails. Real communication. Honest conversations. Active listening. Asking questions. Being willing to hear uncomfortable answers. And following through.
Because if coaches can’t hear their players, if parents won’t listen to coaches, if admins don’t engage with families, and if governing bodies stay silent unless there’s a scandal, we’re not fixing anything. We’re just rearranging the ingredients and wondering why the dish still tastes off.
This whole system depends on trust. And trust depends on communication. That means making sure athletes feel seen and valued. Not just when they score. Not just when they win. But when they’re struggling. When they have questions. When they need to know they matter more than their stat line.
Every one of us is a piece of the casserole. Some of us are the crunchy topping. Some of us are the questionable ingredients that need to be replaced. But either way, we’re in this dish together. And if we want to make something that people actually want to come back for, we have to stop defending the old recipe just because it’s what we know.
Saving youth sports isn’t about going backward. It’s about moving forward with intention, with humility, and with hope.
Because it’s not gone. It’s just off course.
And it’s not too late to fix it.
Funny thing. I actually saw that casserole again last month at a banquet. Same dish. Same suspicious texture. But this time, someone had taped a note to the foil lid that said, “Modernized.” I was intrigued. Took a bite. It was… better. Still familiar, still warm and comforting. But the mystery ingredients had been swapped out for real stuff. Someone took the time to adjust the recipe without erasing it.
That’s the goal, right?
We’re not throwing away the whole thing. We’re just trying to make it something people actually want to come back for.
Let’s talk. Let’s listen.
Let’s fix the recipe. Let’s save the dish.
Let’s save youth sports.